Sweet and Tart
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: "Miss me, John?" There was a low moan from deep in the greaser's chest that had Sherlock smiling fondly. "I missed you, too. I did get you a treat, though. Two treats, actually, but we'll save the other for later. Would you like your first treat now?" Teenlock, Dom!nerd!top!Sherlock / sub!greaser!bottom!John


**I was supposed to be filling prompts today, but then I heard the ice cream truck making the rounds this afternoon. I didn't have enough change to get anything from the truck itself, but that didn't stop the truck from giving me something anyway: a deliciously smutty idea.**

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Sherlock's head popped up and cocked to the side, listening carefully. Suddenly, he heard it again and he beamed a bright smile at John who said nothing at the wicked grin now spreading across his face. "The ice cream truck. You were just telling me you wanted some, yes?" He shot a glance to the clock on the side table and hopped up, striding towards his boyfriend's leather jacket where it was draped over the desk chair. "I'll just pop down to get you some and I'll be right back."

The faux-square was in no hurry as he ambled down the stairs and out the front door to wait for the musical truck to near. There was already a queue forming and he waited until the last child and parent were in place before tacking himself onto the end. When it was finally his turn, he carefully eyed everything on the menu before ordering two chocolate-dipped vanilla bars and an lemon ice lolly. His return to John's house was a little quicker, turned into a bit of a race to get the ice cream into the ice box before it melted. He tossed in the ice lolly and went to the bathroom, giving it plenty of time to harden again.

He had left John alone in his room for approximately 30 minutes and the ice lolly in the freezer for five when he felt that he'd waited long enough. Lemon treat in hand, he practically bounded up the stairs to the second floor, one long stride taking him to flinging open his boyfriend's door. The tan teen flinched at the suddenness, but he could do nothing else from his position, and Sherlock greedily drank in the sight of his greaser.

John was laying on his back in the centre of his bed, fight-scarred skin bare except for where wrists and ankles were bound in wide red ribbon and tied to the four corners; pretty lips were stretched into an 'o' around the bright red ball of a ball gag; tan cheeks were flushed and tear-stained; and bright blue eyes stared at him wide and unseeing as his body writhed on the sheets as best as it could in its restraints. And the cherry on the milkshake was the black leather cockring keeping the red cock erect and weeping, and the sight of John's hole clenching desperately around the black vibrator Sherlock had been torturing him with before he'd heard the familiar strains of music from outside. And of course, as he'd pressed it right against his boyfriend's prostate before he'd walked out the door half an hour ago, his rough-and-tumble love would only be in the most exquisite stage of pained pleasure right now. And Sherlock would be such a bad boyfriend if he didn't remedy that.

He stood just inside the open door for just a moment longer, etching the sight of the older teen splayed and vulnerable on his own bed into his mind palace before he moved. His boyfriend's jacket was thrown carelessly back towards the desk chair and the ice lolly's wrapping was dropped just as carelessly on the floor as he strolled back over to the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to a sweat-damp forehead.

"Miss me, John?" There was a low moan from deep in the greaser's chest that had Sherlock smiling fondly. "I missed you, too. I did get you a treat, though. Two treats, actually, but we'll save the other for later. Would you like your first treat now?" He knew it might take a minute before his boyfriend's mind caught up to his questions so he occupied himself with stroking his long fingers through short, drenched strands: a soothing, calming touch. After a moment, John's head moved under his hand in a short, jerky motion. Oh, how he'd love to kiss his greaser right now but John could be so _loud_, something he absolutely loved but couldn't risk deep in suburbia when everyone was awake and about and the windows were all open to let in what breeze could be found, so the ball gag was absolutely required. Instead, he stuck out the tip of his tongue to trace John's lips where they circled the ball, and then held the ice lolly up within eyesight of the dazed blue gaze.

"Lemon," he informed with a light kiss to a sweaty temple. "Your favourite." As he pulled away, there was another muffled sound from the greaser, and then he set to work. The ice lolly made a streak along the front of the tan neck, the shine continuing as he slowly dragged it down a hard sternum and over to circle one pert, pink nipple. John bucked under him at the icy touch on something so sensitive and he pulled away after a moment, smirking. Slowly, he bent over his boyfriend, his tongue following the path the sticky sweet had made. When his mouth closed over the cold nipple, there was a strangled, muffled cry as John's hips bucked and his cock twitched. When he let off, it was only to repeat the path with first the ice lolly, then his tongue, only this time ending at the other nipple.

"You taste fantastic, did you know that John?" Sherlock murmured, trailing the lolly in a straight line down the taut stomach and over each hip bone. "Even without the ice lolly, I love the way you taste." He pressed his tongue down and flat, tracing the new path in one, slow, broad swipe. Up the twitching cock it went next, the tip of the lolly tracing veins in the shaft, covering the every bit of the length except the glans in the sweet and tart juice. Quick as a snake, he darted down to lick the beads of precome from the slit before covering the mushroomed head in the ice-cold juice. At the touch of something made of such a drastic temperature difference than his heated erection, John gave a sharp cry, hips arching up and back bowing off the bed.

"Do you like that?" he chuckled, drawing the tip of the lolly over the tip of the greaser's cock a second time. There was another strangled sound, one which he liked to believe was agreement. "Would you like me to take the vibrator out, John?" Another strangled sound. "Very well." Slowly, painfully slow, he pulled the dark toy free, flicking the switch and dropping it carelessly to the bed. Glazed eyes closed as the trembling, tan body collapsed to the bed, harsh pants bursting out from behind the ball gag as hips finally fell still. "I hope you don't think we're done," he murmured, dragging the lolly along the crease of a spread thigh. "Besides the fact that I'll never be done with you, John Watson, you have not come yet, and neither have I." Without another word, he pressed the lolly in where the vibrator had been as he simultaneously swallowed down his boyfriend's cock.

He was suddenly quite glad that he had thought to gag the greaser beforehand, as the shout that burst behind the red ball when he swallowed around his cock would have been heard for blocks. He worked slowly, pumping the lolly in and out of the loosened hole, his head bobbing at the same, leisurely pace. John's hips were rolling in earnest now, every thrust up to escape the ice-cold length against his prostate only pushing his cock further into Sherlock's mouth, and every thrust away from the hot tight heat around his cock pushing the lolly deeper into him.

Now Sherlock was at a crossroads: should he make John come now? Release the cock ring and watch with avid fascination as he came so hard that ejaculate hit his chin? Or did he wait? Fucking into the smaller teen to feel the strange cold that must have seeped into his lover's muscles? And then take off the cockring as his own orgasm hit him so he could feel John's passage convulsing around him? After a few moments, he decided he'd rather go with option two. After all, if the ice lolly melted now, there was no guarantee that he'd be able to try this particular experiment again.

There was a high whine from his boyfriend when he pulled off the tart-and-musky cock, leaving the lolly fully embedded as he stood off the side of the bed, quickly stripping his clothes from his skin. When he climbed back on, he once again thanking Mrs Watson for her wonderful bed frame choice. The ribbon around John's ankles were attached to their respected wrists, and when he grabbed his boyfriend's hips and tugged him down and pushed his knees up, it only stretched his greaser's arms further above his head, elongating his short torso across the bed. A bottle of lubrication was already on the bed behind him where he'd tossed it earlier, and he wasted no time opening it and liberally coating his cock with the solution before pulling out the lolly to toss it to the sheets and pressing his cock oh-so-slowly into the toy-and-lolly-loosened passage.

Going as slowly as he was was just as much a torture for him as it was for his greaser. He'd been hard longer than John had, the mere thought of what he was going to do to his boyfriend when Sherlock snuck over making an erection start and stay as soon as he'd woken that morning. John's hips were writing, trying to impale himself quicker on his boyfriend's cock. He couldn't actually, but it was so wonderful seeing him try, seeing his tough greaser so desperate when he was so strong and dominant in any other situation.

"John..." he groaned lowly as he came to a full stop, cock fully encased by the tight, wet heat. "God, you feel..." he panted, the strange and delightful sensation hard even for him to wrangle into words. "You feel so good. You're cold and hot. So different. So strange. I love it." John's head was thrown back again, eyes clenched shut and neck straining as Sherlock pulled out to thrust back in. It almost felt like the skin on his cock was tingling, the acid of the lemon the culprit as he thrust back in. He groaned, tossing his own head back as he established a decent pace, neither slow nor hard. Hard would bring release too quick, and even poised on the razor's edge like he was, slow wouldn't be fast enough. His eyes were closed, trying to absorb the way John felt around him, imprinting it on his mind.

Some days, some days like today when he'd angered his own flesh and blood with his deductions, insecurity hit him like a train. He hated it. He'd never felt it like this before John, before he'd fallen in love with the greaser with a kind smile and a mean left hook. Sometimes he became hyper aware of how he seemed to alienate everyone around him, and it was a frequent fear that one day he would alienate the only person he'd ever loved, as well. Those moments, those days, he wanted nothing more than to lock John in his basement, never again to see the light of day, reliant only on Sherlock for his needs. But he refrained. He wanted his boyfriend to be happy, and John's happiness took precedence over all things.

His pace had picked up while he'd been inside his own mind, and there were tears streaming down John's face, the tightness around him even more so: prostate. He curled his fingers around his boyfriend's hips, grip bruising as he cruelly picked up the pace. Orgasm had been looming nearly all day, and now it was rising, curling up his spine, licking the world from his eyes. Quickly, he unsnapped the cockring from John's cock, only giving it one desperate stroke before the greaser was coming over his hand, soaking his fist in seed and his passaging sucking him in, spasming and sucking Sherlock's own orgasm from him. The orgasm, enhanced by his hours of self-denial (he'd been hard since awakening, yes, but he hadn't touched his own cock once), overwhelmed him so much that he had to bite his lip to keep from making a noise. John, however, screamed into the ball as his orgasm completely devastated him. Before the cock in his hand had even stopped pulsating, the muffled scream cut off abruptly and John went limp under him.

"John?" he called, worried. _Still breathing. Pulse accelerated, but appropriately so. Unconscious. Fine._ He breathed a sigh of relief and reached forward, cock still stuffed up his boyfriend's arse, to unbuckle the ball gag. It was tossed on the bed next to the vibrator, and once done, he carefully unwrapped the ribbon from around tan wrists and ankles, massaging both and the surrounding muscles to ensure proper blood flow. He pulled out, quickly pressing a plug in place to keep his come inside before tugging John's body up the bed and situating the short limbs along the mattress. Despite the warm, mid-afternoon sun coming in through the open window, heating up the room, Sherlock had the thin sheet out from under their bodies and laid over in a few quick movements before he curled around his boyfriend's unconscious form.

He sent another quick thanks to Mr Watson's boss for the bonus that allowed John's parents to leave the house for a beach trip for the weekend, and to Harry Watson for being so occupied with her own girlfriend, leaving his oddly-innocent greaser to his perverted mercies: he may look like a square, may have the brain of a square, but if anyone thought for one second that he was one of them, they would soon learn otherwise. Sherlock curled around his boyfriend, holding him close as he breathed in the musky scent of their coupling. He would let John rest and eat, both real food and the ice cream bar in the freezer, if he wanted, and then they could begin round two.

FIN

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**You know you're ruined when the sound of an ice cream truck sparks hella smut ideas. Please don't forget to leave a review letting me know what you thought of said idea, and come see me on my author tumblr (themadkatter13-fanfictionDOTtumblr) for more smutty ideas.**


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